


The She-Ghost In My Lair

by sammisue



Category: Kim Possible (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26035018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammisue/pseuds/sammisue
Summary: Drakken discovers that his Caribbean lair really IS haunted.
Relationships: Dr. Drakken & Shego (Kim Possible), Dr. Drakken/Shego (Kim Possible)
Kudos: 6





	1. Friendly, Maybe

Drakken sat at his breakfast table, fist with a tuff full of hair in his palm, the other holding a ceramic mug as his eyes remained transfixed on the scattered schematics in front of him. Slowly, to his side, a door creaked, uttering a groan in the silent room. Drakken turned towards the port, that led to his unfinished basement as a wave of air escaped, followed by nothing. Or, what most would consider ‘nothing’.

“You still mad at me?”

To his side, a shortened pencil levitated—its lead pressed upon the lines of a notebook, just enough for the substance to leave trails along the paper.

 _Nah_.

He smiled. Good.

“Would you like to take part in my latest scheme?”

Though he did not have the faintest clue as to what she looked like, he imagined the entity that stood behind him encapsulating his shoulders in her translucent embrace, as if to say _yes_ , while peering over his shoulder as the clutter of schematics that littered the table.

Leave it to Dr. Drakken to bring a ghost back to his lair. At least she was a friendly ghost.

Most of the time.


	2. Abnormal Circumstances

_CRASH._

_BANG._

_THUMP._

Drakken lifted his head from the pile of chicken scratch. He peered over the mini-diorama of his--quote, unquote--” latest _AND_ greatest invention yet” as a thin piece of blue paper detached from the oils of his forehead and delicately landed in his lap. 

Under normal circumstances, the abrasive clamor would have alarmed him--would have forced him out of the comfort of his chair to save the airborne devices from settling into their new home on the hardened floor of his lair. But these weren’t, what he’d consider, “normal circumstances” --not since that she-ghost. . . _thing_ decided to follow him home. 

“Must you always destroy my toys?”

A brief pause, a period of quiet tranquility, was far too brief--interrupted by a piercing scratch of metal-on-metal, followed by a familiar _BANG_ as the mini-model of his hand-held laser scattered to pieces on the floor. 

Her soft chuckle fount its mischievous way to his ears, carried by the faint breeze that passed him. 


	3. Food Fight

A gloved hand carefully pried a searing pan out of his dilapidated toaster-oven. With his other, Drakken wafted the steam that rose from his cooked meal towards his nose, capturing the savory scent within his nostrils as his chest rumbled with a sweet hum, followed by a gargle from his empty stomach.

Oh, how _excited_ he was to eat after a long day in the lab.

Quickly, he shoved his food onto the patient plate that sat diligently upon his granite counter, haphazardly threw the warm pan into the sink to be washed later, and brought his delectable dinner to the crooked chair--his place at the dining table.

He brought a cup of liquid closer to him. His smile widened, parting his lips to allow the smooth liquid to coat his taste buds.

Dinner was always his favorite part of the day. A time to relax, eat some delicious food, and--

The cocoa-moo wildly splashed in his face.

He yelped and instinctively reached for the pile of napkins that sat on the table, specifically for situations like this--when SheGho decided to throw a fit over _nothing_.

“Listen,” his teeth remained clenched as he wiped the milk off of his face, “I understand that you do not necessarily _enjoy_ my meal of nuggets and cocoa-moo, but--”

If only he could see the arms she crossed upon her chest.

“--that doesn’t mean you have to _ruin_ it!”


	4. The Afterlife

Sometimes SheGho wondered what her afterlife would be like if she wasn’t tied to an idiotic excuse for a mad scientist. From destroyed lairs, to easily-accessible self-destruct buttons, and a group of meddling kids, who called themselves Team Possible, in between, SheGho was astounded to see the old man still standing--still so willfully optimistic about his dream to conquer the world. The odds were never in his favor, but he had yet to throw in the towel. . . or kick the bucket. 

Late nights to early mornings, fail schematics to trashed plans, a hand-held laser exploding within his calloused fingers, she understood why this self-proclaimed _Dr. Drakken_ was such a crank-pants pseudo doctor and, on most occasions, his irrational behavior vexed her to the core. 

She rested her cheek in the palm of her hand. Then again, what _would_ her afterlife be like without him? _Boring_. After all, what would be the point of wandering the face of the earth for eternity if she couldn’t share part of that eternity with another?

She watched the lights glisten in his eyes as a slight wheeze of his crying lungs sounded into the microphone. He seemed unbothered as he continued to belt the chorus to whatever _Oh Boyz_ song he had chosen that night. She wasn’t sure which one it was--they all sounded the same. 

Her translucent elbow hovered above the surface of the table next to a drink that Drakken had left for her, knowing well that she couldn’t drink it. Not like she minded, really. It was the thought that counted. 


	5. Dog Dad

Even _with_ his noise-canceling headphones, he could hear the shrill _yip_ of his newest, furry “friend”. 

Commodore Puddles came into Drakken’s possession as a gift from his other, dearest “friend”, Dementor. The illegitimate professor, knowing well that Drakken, who could barely take care of himself, was ill-suited for the dog-owner lifestyle, thought he was doing his rival-in-evil a favor. Maybe the dog could solve Drakken’s ghost problem.

Not like he asked for Dementor’s assistance, anyway. 

Drakken spun in his rolling chair towards the dog whose paws were placed upon the counter, barking at the stillness of the air. SheGho must have made herself at home on the granite surface--like always. No matter how many times Drakken had informed her that sitting on another man’s counter was rather rude, she never listened. 

Days passed. Puddles never stopped barking--at the counter, at the plants, in the dead-of-night when SheGho decided to slip into his bedroom, Commodore Puddles felt the need to alert Drakken of her presence. Unfortunately, her presence never went away and the sleepless nights had forced Drakken to choose one over the other, since _neither_ Puddles, nor SheGho, could get along. 

Though, it was no choice, for he didn’t have a choice to make. 

Reluctantly, Drakken forfeited his title of “dog-owner”, passing the responsibility to his mother, who seemed rather lonely in his absence. She welcomed Commodore Puddles with open arms--a new baby for her to smother since her little _Drewbie_ was “ _oh so grown up_ ” _._

Crushed by the strangely strong arms of his mother, Drakken felt a familiar, chilling sensation by his side. There may not have been a breeze to carry her eerie voice, but Drakken knew that SheGho was laughing at his expense. 

After a small conversation, Drakken departed with a bag full of peanut butter stickies, bringing SheGho with him, wondering if he should get a refund on those headphones. 


	6. New Diet

As part of his new diet, courtesy of SheGho destroying his packages of dino-nuggets, Drakken stocked his fridge with fresh fruits and vegetables from the nearest farmers market to his isolated Caribbean lair. At first, the diet looked promising; he had gone the extra mile to learn how to _cook_ \--a basic life-skill that his mother failed to teach him--but, as SheGho peered behind the fridge door that Drakken left agape, she recognized the familiar packaging of his beloved dino-nuggets, poorly hidden behind heads of lettuce. 

He knew she’d be disappointed. He had assumed that she’d unleash her fury over his poor eating habits on the innocent package of nuggets. What he didn’t anticipate, however, was the absence of the old carton of strawberries he had bought days ago. 

Drakken opened the fridge, now stashed with his junk-food, and noticed the molded carton missing. Peculiar, he mused, for he didn’t _remember_ throwing them out, but he very well could have. It wouldn’t be the first time a memory was lost the ether. He paid no mind and closed the door. Later that evening, there they were, in their rightful place, lodged in the back corner of the fridge. Naturally, his curiosity grew and he wondered if the strawberries would conduct their disappearing act the next time he wanted his nuggets. 

Instead, he found the carton on the table, by an unkempt chair that wobbled in the light breeze of the nearby air conditioner. Recognizing the blue-ish culture that made the sugary fruit its lovely home, Drakken grabbed the carton to throw it in the trash, but it didn’t budge. 

“SheGho, will you please give me the strawberries.”

She didn’t let go. 

“But there’s MOLD!”

She was not persuaded. Not wanting to anger the demon that occupied his lair, he left her alone, hoping that the strawberries wouldn’t spoil the rest of the food in the fridge. 

Weeks passed, the strawberries remained nestled in their back corner, save for the few times SheGho decided she wanted to look at them. Her strawberries, the fruit she favored in life, were black with disgusting mold and a foul odor that concocted within the sealed plastic of the container that now had her pseudo name on it. She marveled at them, wished that she could taste the bitter-sweet flavor, then put them back in Drakken’s fridge for safe-keeping, afraid to rid of the one thing that reminded her youthful spirit of the mortal world.

The day Drakken decided to start his own garden on the back balcony was the day SheGho _actually_ offered her assistance around the lair. She tended to his plants, feeding some of her accumulated energy to them, giving extra attention to the new strawberries while the old ones laid within the depths of the garbage can. 


	7. Midnight Ride

Beneath the stars, the raven strands of Drakken’s hair faded into the blackened night. The radio’s signal struggled to weave in and out of trees, which infuriated him as the long-fought battle between music and static filled the car with its obnoxious clamor. In the end, the static won and Drakken moved to haphazardly shut the radio off before the static drove him insane. In the darkness, all that was left to accompany him was the rumble of an old engine and a familiar hum that continued to sound within his ears. 

He wasn’t sure _why_ she enjoyed midnight rides. In the cold depths of the mountain air, maybe the environment reminded her of something she felt in life: the stars that glistened in her eyes as she wondered what laid beyond this world, the shadows that fed into her curiosities when she followed them down the never-ending pavement, the warmth she felt rise within her as her mortal soul drifted towards the alluring force of nature.

In life, she held the world within her fingertips. In death, all she had left were melancholy memories--a faint wish to feel those exhilarating sensations grace her being just _one more time_. 

At least, that’s what he believed.

The hum drew closer as a faint pressure weighed upon his shoulder. A slight chill ran through him, but he kept his hand firm on the steering wheel, never losing sight of the road.

He sighed. There were just some things he would never know. 


	8. Just Watchin'

Steam seeped into his nasal cavities, breaking apart the clumps of mucus that made breathing unbearably insufferable. A sigh of relief as fingers ran through his locks, Drakken relished in the calm that came from the fog that filled his bathroom. The hot water, like a warm blanket, coated his blue skin, washed away the left-over suds from his shampoo, and relaxed the tense muscles that pained him after a long day of his evil-doings.

Drakken was finally at peace.

The bottle of soap fell from the marble counter. He jumped, his foot slipping on the slick floor, his elbow slamming into the shower wall with a loud _THUMP_ in his attempt to cease his descent.

“SH-SHEGHO? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

Instinctively, his hands moved to cover himself as he stood, naked, in front of the glass that separated his body from the bathroom.

Slowly, meticulously, thin lines appeared in the fog that encased the glass. She spelled her reply:

“Just watchin’.”

He snarled.

“Get out.”

His threat fell flat as she wrote her second reply:

“No,” followed by a crude doodle of a heart.

Really, what was there for him to do? Truthfully, he was more scared of her than she was of him, and it was not like he could physically _shoo_ her out of the steamy room. All he could do was finish his business as fast as possible while SheGho made herself at home, against the glass, drawing small pictures of hearts and smiley-faces to remind him of her overbearing presence.

The next time he hopped in the shower, he wore his swim trunks. SheGho was not amused, but accompanied him anyway.


End file.
